Tears that never fade
Short stories by Tran Huyen Trang
Short stories by Tran Huyen TrangAugust 7, 2026
The boy had melancholic eyes. His long, thick eyelashes curled upwards—they were called cow eyelashes. They acted like a fence, shielding him from the tears that threatened to spill. One day, Quân asked him if he felt any sadness or resentment towards life. He didn't answer, instead asking, "If I haven't shed tears yet, then I haven't cried, right, teacher?" The young teacher fell silent. The boy's huddled posture resembled a curved question mark lost in the hazy night sky. If one day he were to shed tears, would those bitter tears of resentment have time to dissipate before he nodded in forgiveness for life?
***
Everyone in the small village was captivated by his melancholic beauty. But his grandfather disapproved. He sighed. "Oh, a boy, he should be beautiful enough, too much beauty brings trouble, either to himself or to others. The worst part is those two deep dimples, like 'burying girls in a lake'!" People wondered, "Who does the boy resemble? His father or mother, or someone from either side of the family? How is it that I'm like this, and my grandson is so incredibly handsome?" The old man exhaled smoke, swirling it around his thin fingertips. "It doesn't matter who he resembles, as long as he's my grandson!"
The drinking sessions were pointless, the snacks dwindling, sometimes just a few starfruit, other times a few roasted peanuts. Drinking buddies were gradually leaving. They were all in their seventies; few were still vigorous. Some tilted their heads back, but the alcohol wouldn't go down their throats, instead trickling down their ribcages. The old man frowned. "You guys have to try to stay healthy so I can still have someone to entrust my grandson to. Who knows, maybe someday God will take me to sell salt!"
When sadness becomes overwhelming, even the intoxicating effects of alcohol are like a light drizzle, neither wetting nor dissolving, neither intoxicating nor sobering. People use alcohol to express their feelings about life and the world, but he is neither drunk nor sober; when alcohol enters his system, he remains silent. Sometimes he remains silent from morning till night. The boy returns home, startled to find his grandfather hunched over on the doorstep, his body reduced to a handful, his knees protruding like breadcrumbs. That day, he had a slow day selling lottery tickets, and in the afternoon he had to rush to return a thick stack of tickets. Their meal consisted only of braised pork with dipping sauce and young gourd shoots. He added boiling water to instant noodles to make soup. Yet, the two of them managed to get through the day, as long as the boy could still see that "hundred-fingered" figure huddled in front of the door every day; that gave him peace of mind. His grandfather had told him, "In this life, we eat to live, not live to eat."
***
The old woman who collected scrap metal at the end of the alley became idle after retiring. Idle old people are often sad. This neighborhood has many elderly people, idle, prone to sulking, and often melancholic. Some are like bicycles with broken chains, rattling through five or seven bouts of sadness before finally seeing a glimmer of joy. It could be their last delicious meal, or seeing their children and grandchildren suddenly stop arguing and competing over caring for their elderly bodies. A prime example is the old woman who collected scrap metal. Rumors spread throughout the neighborhood that she had a long, drawn-out laugh before she breathed her last, as if she had never laughed before. That laugh became a legend, giving rise to countless variations. Laughter is not uncommon in this bustling city. But laughter in a neighborhood steeped in sadness leaves people bewildered.
The boy's grandfather never smiled. He had never seen him smile, not even when he told him happy stories. For example, one day someone won tens of millions of dong in the lottery, enough to buy the tiny room the two of them lived in, and gave them a small tip as a token of good luck. That "small tip" could cover a month's rent or buy dozens of kilograms of rice. He refurbished his old bicycle, loaded boxes of candy and pre-cut fruit onto the luggage rack to sell along with the lottery tickets to earn extra money. He only saw the wrinkles at the corners of his grandfather's mouth stretch out, revealing the last remaining yellow tooth in his jaw. The next morning, that tooth would sink into a spoonful of rare beef pho with lime. Twice a year, the two of them would get to eat rare beef pho with lime from the best pho restaurant in the neighborhood. Once, the owner treated them to a meal at her restaurant's grand opening after Tet (Lunar New Year). The other time, the boy was treated by his teacher after completing his literacy program at the brightly lit charity school in the park. Actually, the teacher just invited us whenever he wanted, but we were both shy and kept finding ways to deflect and refuse.
The teacher doesn't drink alcohol. My grandfather seems a little pensive.
- You look so handsome, but you really don't know how to drink alcohol?
The teacher just smiled faintly. I don't know what he was thinking. But after a few review sessions, he nudged the boy to ask how he was doing, and reminded him to keep an eye on his grandfather. Old people have so many worries. Each gray hair means another strand of sadness and anxiety. The more anxious they are, the more they drown in alcohol. His grandfather didn't confide in him much. He never criticized him for being a child who knew nothing. But when asked to tell him stories about life, he remained silent.
- My life is nothing special, what's there to tell?
***
Grandma, secrets are such a terrible thing, aren't they? Why do people need to keep secrets?
The old man's eyes were fixed on the deep, dark shadows at the end of the village. One day, the boy rushed home, saying he had a secret. That rascal, a secret and yet he had to tell the old man!
- Is it that terrible? If it's not that terrible, then there's no need to hide it.
- Teacher Quan knows how to drink alcohol!
The boy leaned close to his grandfather's ear and whispered, afraid the secret would be spread throughout the neighborhood by the wind. The old man frowned. Well, this was good news; the boy should have revealed this secret sooner!
Besides my family, who else knows this secret of mine?
- No one else knows. Only Grandma knows. Remember to keep it a secret, Grandma. But, where's the safest place to keep the secret, Grandma?
- Keep it in a place where there is no sky or earth.
The old man squinted. The boy looked bewildered. Where was that place? But the old man didn't bother to answer.
Does Grandpa have any secrets he's hiding from me?
Yes, he ate it!
***
There was another secret the boy didn't know: When drunk, Mr. Quan was very sweet, as sweet as a child, snuggling his head against the old man's side on a windy day in the alley. He wanted to cry, but no tears fell!
Quân thought of himself as the wind, going wherever he pleased. Sometimes, the wind longed to find his parents. But where his parents were, the wind didn't know. The abbot said that a crane had carried a child to the temple. Then the crane flew away. The child grew up believing, in a fairytale, that the crane was his birth mother. The crane had returned to the realm of nothingness. When the abbot passed away, the child was released from the monastic life, leaving the Bodhi tree. Thanks to the love of those in the shelter, the child continued to grow, excelled in his studies, and became a teacher. He sought to extend that love to the children struggling day and night to make a living in the narrow alleys. The sad eyes of the little lottery ticket seller held Quân captive in this slum filled with sorrow. Quân pondered for many nights. The fate of an abandoned, unacknowledged child like himself was insignificant compared to the lives of those anchored here. How insignificant was it compared to the child's grandfather? War bombs had taken away both his feet, but he still took in a little boy rescued from a patch of water hyacinths drifting down the river. The boy had been abandoned by his own mother, who wanted to "extinguish the family line."
- There are some people, they're so cruel, teacher!
For so many years, he secretly searched for the boy's true identity. If only he could have kept that secret, to spare the boy's life from suffering.
***
That day, a strange man followed the little boy all the way back to his rented room. They said they worked for social media, specializing in finding impoverished lives to film for charity. They raised their phones, taking pictures and videos, zooming in on everything from the chipped bowl to the frayed red and blue embroidered blanket. The blanket that had kept the old man and his grandson warm through countless rainy seasons was, in their eyes, just a discarded piece of cloth. The small room had a leaky roof from the previous rainy season to this one; the landlord said he would repair it before the next storm. They had already waived half the rent for the old man and his grandson, so what more could they ask for? The camera pointed directly at the leak, which they considered a fascinating discovery. They clicked their tongues, feigning great sympathy. But the old man heard a sigh of relief. They asked the old man to tell them about the boy's background.
The more tragic and pitiful the situation, the more donations we receive from benefactors.
Is he really your grandson?
They know how to stir up other people's pain into a mass. Then they mix in a bunch of tears. It all becomes a juicy bait. The smell of money fills the air, a greasy feeling in the throat.
The old man felt a pang in his heart and quickly saw the guest off. The stranger picked up his camera, brushed off his trousers, and angrily left, much to the old man's dismay.
- Hmph, poor but acting all high and mighty!
The boy stared at his grandfather in astonishment. The setting sun blazed up behind the spires of the city's tall buildings. The old man's face turned red like a fighting rooster.
- You... cruel person!
The old man neither smiled nor cried; the wrinkles on his face were tightly bound together, his sadness clinging to him. Quân sat silently in front of his room, listening as if the old man's sigh had seeped through him, reaching deep into his heart and soul.
***
That day, Quân tidied up his tiny house. From now on, there would be three people in the house, and even if the wind blew through the door, it wouldn't feel so cold.
The old man's eyes were red and swollen.
- The kid's secret, where did I send it to the teacher?
Don't worry, I've put it away.
- Where?
- A place without sky or earth.
The old man nodded. He feared the pain stirred up by tears, a pain that would never fade.